


Weeping For Zion

by Lila_Cross



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, F/M, Fix-It, Season/Series 02, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-09 16:07:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3256100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lila_Cross/pseuds/Lila_Cross
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beth had been his center, and with her gone, Daryl spins away into a place where he just might have a chance to do it all over again. A fix-it fic that picks up after the mid-season 4 finale and meanders back in time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Stand Amid the Roar

 

When the sunlight on his face pulled Daryl up from slumber and into the waking world, at first everything was a blurry haze of dream and memory. He snuffled into the pillow and turned over onto his belly, hiding his eyes from the light.In those blissful seconds between sleep and awake, his mind was a blessed blank, but between one breath and the next, the nightmare poured in.Beth was dead.A feeling like suffocating came over him as he remembered everything.The brief seconds he had had to feel her warm and living under his hands.The utter shock of that bitch’s gun going off and the mindless animal rage when he executed her for what she’d done.For what she’d taken from them. From him.

Underneath his cheek, Daryl felt the sheets growing damp with his tears, so he shifted himself to his knees, curled into himself like a pill bug, and pressed his palms to his eyes, trying to breathe in deep.Deep breaths, like she said. Like that time right after the prison fell and the staggering loss had only been a few hours old and he had gone and had a panic attack laying there in the tall grass next to her like a puppet with its strings cut.She had leaned over him—the sun a corona behind her golden head— and grabbed his face with gentle hands, repeating, “Breathe, Daryl, breathe. Deep breaths. Breathe with me. It’s all right. We’re okay. We’re okay. Deep breaths.”

It had taken him what felt like an eternity to draw air full into his lungs, and his pulse to stop trying to jack hammer its way out of his chest.The entire time, her eyes stayed on his, the blue of them an anchor.But his gratefulness was no match for his shame and his guilt- that this girl whose father he loved and failed should have to comfort him? It was unbearable. So he shoved her off, and began the campaign of shutting himself off completely. How he wished now that he could have that moment back, right before he’d barked, “M’fine now. Get off!” If he had that moment to live again, he’d pull her down against him, span her back with his arms, and whisper his _thank you, I’m sorry, forgive me_ ’s into her hair. 

But she was gone now.No, not gone, dead. She was dead and... she was dead and... singing in the next room?

With a jolt, Daryl opened his eyes.The sight that greeted him shocked him into a strange feeling of paralyzing confusion.He knew this room.It was a real bed he was in, not the backseat of the filthy pick-up where he’d collapsed after digging Beth’s grave.Those were the gauzy white curtains on the windows, and the four cream-colored walls of the first floor guest room where he had spent an evening convalescing after he nearly killed himself searching for Sophia almost two years ago. Everything looking just as it had back then, right down to the family bible on the nightstand. 

Daryl knew dreams from reality; his life had been too stark and too cruel for one not to be an escape from the other.His surroundings felt as real as anything—as real as the taste of cold beer or the fur of a rabbit or the smell of gasoline.When he swung his legs over the side of the bed and touched bare feet to the wooden floor, that felt real as well, and so clear now that he could no longer ignore it, he could hear her. Her voice carried some song, though not loud enough that he could make out the words, and all he knew was that even if it was a dream, he had to see her. And if God was kind, maybe hold her just once. 

Half-crazed now, Daryl didn’t bother with searching for clothes. In nothing but his drawers he was at the door in four strides, almost expecting everything around him to disappear as soon as he opened it.It didn’t.He rounded the corner, down a straight shot to the kitchen, and there she was. Her back was to him as she washed dishes, and he could hear the words of her song.

__

_ By the waters  
the waters of Babylon _

  
He didn’t dare move forward.If this was a dream, and it was to dissolve away into the starkness of waking and pain when she turned, then he wasn’t going to do anything to draw her attention.He’d stand and listen to her sing until his legs grew roots into the floor. 

_ We lay down and wept  
and wept for thee Zion _

__

And it was so much like some beautiful domestic vision that he knew it couldn’t really be real.Her hands were up to their elbows in dishwater as she sang softly, and the mid-morning sun was streaming through the window, bathing Beth in gold and shining white.

_ We remember thee, remember thee, Zion _

Before his mother began worshipping the bottle in earnest, Marianne Dixon had been Catholic, and when he was very small, she had placed an icon of the Virgin Mary on the shelf above his bed.Her image had been clothed in robes the color of robins' eggs, and there was a crown of stars around her head. His mother had taught him to pray to her... full of grace... blessed art thou... and he, he had tried. But he never felt like he had uttered a truly genuine prayer until this moment, with Beth standing in profile, wearing sunlight instead of a shroud. _Please, give her back to me. Give her back. I’ll be the best kind of man there is. I’ll give my own life. Just give her back... or if you can’t, if you can’t, let me stay here forever. Don’t make me go back._

No sooner had Daryl realized he was weeping— huge, gasping sobs—worse even than his cries yesterday as he carried her body down five flights of stairs—than Beth was turning, startled, to stare at him, mouth open.Her face was only blurred by his tears, though, not by the haze of a dream departing, and when he understood that he might be allowed to touch her, nothing could have stopped him.

She managed to stutter out, “Mr. Dixon?” and he could hear it in her voice, how she was younger, so much younger than the Beth in his waking world—not only in body but in spirit—and she hardly knew him, Jesus Christ, she didn’t know him at all but it didn’t matter. He closed the distance and pulled her to him, though he could feel her resisting, which broke his heart a little. If this were a dream, why wouldn’t she hold him in return? He couldn’t seem to stop sobbing though, and now he could hear himself repeating, “Beth? Oh, God. Beth. Are you real? Tell me you’re real. Tell me,” and that seemed to pull the tension right out of her.Always a nurturer, this girl.

“It’s all right. Shush. It’s all right, Mr. Dix... Daryl. It’s all right, Daryl. It was just a dream. You’re fine. We’re all fine. Everything’s going to be all right.” 

Shirtless, covered in his own snot and tears, Daryl sank to his knees, pulling her with him, where she continued to patiently bear his embrace, and whisper shaky reassurances into his hair.And that’s how Rick, Lori and Hershel found them moments later. 


	2. Grains of the Golden Sand

 

“What is going on here?” Hershel’s voice was raised only slightly but it carried in it the tone of a man who didn’t like what he saw and wanted answers immediately.

There were few things in the world that could have pulled Daryl from Beth’s arms, but the disapproving voice of her dead father was definitely one of them.Brushing Beth’s hair away from where it stuck to the tears on his face and allowing them both to sit back on their heels, Daryl looked up into the steely blue eyes of Hershel Greene.

“Hershel? Jesus Christ. Hershel!” 

Daryl couldn’t contain himself. He was sure his face was reaching previously unseen levels of expression, especially for him, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want to leave Beth’s side on the floor, so he made an awkward shuffle-lunge to his knees, where he grabbed Hershel’s hand and bowed his head over it. He could feel the strength in the older man’s fingers and forearm as he fought to pull away, clearly startled by Daryl’s actions, but Daryl wouldn’t let Hershel go until he spoke. “M’sorry, Hershel. M’so sorry.” 

Beth rose to her feet to stand behind him as Hershel finally managed to wrench his hand away and bark out, “Sorry? For what exactly?”

And Daryl couldn’t help it anymore; the laughter started to bubble up and out. He had tried to let it go and put it away, like Beth taught him, but deep down, in the places Will Dixon had cultivated with a rough hand and a mighty sneer, he couldn’t shake the feeling of responsibility.The prison had fallen, and Hershel with it, because he had been lulled by the siren song of a home and family that he’d never had before. He had become complacent.

But had he learned his lesson then? Oh, no. Afterwards, when he thought nothing could possibly eclipse that loss, he had been proven so wrong. So very, very wrong. He had looked at Beth and seen, not only home, but also acceptance and understanding, and Christ, help him, love. And of course, of course, the very instant he found himself brave enough to even circle close to the idea of falling in love with someone the question ceased to matter. He dropped his fucking guard and opened that door and she was gone, and dead not long after. So pardon him if he had to laugh when Hershel didn’t understand what he was sorry about. 

The laughter turned into crying again soon enough, and then oh thank god, he felt Rick pulling him up from the floor, and throwing his shoulder around him.Weakness came over Daryl like a wave, and for the first time since waking he was aware that all the scars he had earned from his fall down the flat rocks while he had been searching for Sophia were now fresh open wounds once again.Not to mention the bullet graze. His fingers felt absentmindedly at his hairline where... yep... there it was. Fucking Andrea.

Rick was leading him back to the bedroom, and he didn’t resist. His best friend felt solid under him, as he should.It was the first thing that made sense to Daryl since he had woken up. 

“C’mon, man. Gotta get you back in bed before Hershel decides he’d rather have you on the mend somewhere far away from his youngest daughter.”

Daryl turned his head for one last look at Beth, standing in the middle of the kitchen with Lori on one side tutting attentively at the girl’s disheveled state and her father on the other, reaching out to grab her hand and saying something Daryl couldn’t catch.Beth’s reply sounded out sure enough down the hallway, though. 

“He wasn’t hurting me, Daddy! He was just upset. And scared.” 

She seemed to speak the last part as quietly as she could, as though she suspected that it would irk Daryl to be thought of as someone capable of that type of fear.If only she knew how soon in the future that fear would be the only kind left to him. 

Rick awkwardly shuffled Daryl back into bed, where he refused to lay back down, despite his lightheadedness, but instead made Rick sit in the chair next to the nightstand so he could look at him head on.

“Is this real? Brother, is this real?”

To Rick’s credit, he only looked a little askance at Daryl calling him “brother”. 

“Unfortunately, as far as I can tell,” he replied, with a wry smile. “You’re awake now, Daryl, that’s for certain sure.You must have had a hell of a nightmare, though.”Rick paused and squinted at him like he was trying to suss out a puzzle. “What was all that about with Hershel and his daughter in there?”

The difference between the man in front of him and the one who had stood next to him and shoveled dirt into Beth’s grave was startling. The Rick Grimes Daryl knew was a man who’d lived through a war, and done unspeakable things for just the chance of coming home again. Not so the one in front of him. The measly bit of stubble on Rick’s cheeks did nearly nothing to make him less baby-faced, and like so many things in the last fifteen minutes it made Daryl want to both laugh and cry.He reached out to grip Rick’s forearm.He wanted to have hold of someone warm and solid and real when he recounted everything he had just lived through.He was about to start from the beginning when he saw the glint of his friend’s wedding band flash briefly in the light. Daryl’s eyes widened.

“Lori!”

Rick pulled away, nonplussed. “Lori! Jesus, Rick. Lori’s alive!”

“Yeah, Daryl. Thank god, yes she is.You just saw her.” Rick’s voice sounded steadily more concerned, but Daryl couldn’t help himself now. If this was real, if he had a second chance, there were things that needed to be done, and done immediately.The urgency of everything that was about to happen, everything that could potentially go horribly wrong rose up in him, and he found he was shouting. 

“Fuck! Asskicker! Rick, listen to me, listen. Lori’s gotta keep the kid.And oh Christ, what else... everything went to hell in a fucking handbasket that week... this week. Christ!”He let out a snarl, and fisted his hair in frustration. “The barn! Rick!” He reached out and shook him by the shoulders.“There are walkers in the barn!”

The look on Rick’s face finally registered, and Daryl began to realize how insane he must sound, but he couldn’t stop. “You didn’t know yet. We didn’t know yet.That’s okay.It’s okay. We’ll fix it this time. I’ll fix it.” 

Rick was back on his feet now, and from where he was kneeling on the bed, Daryl could see that Lori and Hershel were standing in the doorway, witnessing him lose his shit.Lori’s face was ashen and Hershel’s could have been set in stone; they’d clearly heard everything he’d just said.Then suddenly Hershel was a rush of movement. First to his kit on the vanity, still out from patching Daryl up yesterday, and then towards the bed.

“He’s raving, Rick.I think he needs a sedative.I don’t want him to harm himself... or anyone else.” He had a needle in his hand, and Rick was holding Daryl down.

Daryl felt the prick of the needle, but he had a few precious seconds before he was swept under again—to the blessed blackness of sleep or his own wretched reality, he still wasn’t sure.He ran his mouth off like he never had before in his whole life.

“Sophia! A walker.She’s in the barn. The whole time. She was there the whole time.No one’s fault.”His eyelids started to feel heavy.“Don’t leave the farm. Whatever you do. Don’t go into town. And fuck... Rick, just watch out for Shane. Don’t be alone with him.”He felt his words start to slur. “ Fuck. Keep... Carl... in the... house.” Before he knew no more, Daryl turned to Hershel and managed one last plea. “Don’t let Beth see her mom. Or your son. Gotta... put ‘em... down, but... don’t let her see. Don’t... let... her... see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked, a kind word is always appreciated!   
> This chapter and the previous one were both written to Don McLean's live 1976 version of "Babylon" and Taking Back Sunday's "Nothing At All". I forgot to mention when I started this thing, but all mistakes are mine. This is unbetaed.


	3. If Hope Has Flown Away

 

From her place around the corner of the kitchen where she was lurking, despite being told by her Daddy to go find Maggie and help her with her chores, Beth tried desperately to hear what Mr. Dixon was shouting. The sound of his voice raised and pleading made her want to wring her hands; it was so unnatural.  She hadn’t lied to her father when she said that the man hadn’t frightened her, but his own fear had certainly done _something_ to her. It made her feel like she would fly apart if she couldn’t take it away... stop it or at least ease it somehow.

Before a few minutes ago Beth would have put good money on Mr. Dixon not even knowing her name, let alone being aware enough of her that she’d feature in his nightmares.  She knew his name, of course.   She knew the names of all the Atlanta people that had invaded the relative peace that had settled over the farm after the initial shock and horror over Mama and Shawn’s sickness.   For the most part, she liked all of them, at least those she had spoken to.  Glenn, and Mr. and Mrs. Grimes especially.  Glenn because it was a joy to see her sister so riled up over a boy for once (instead of always, always the other way around.  Daddy liked to say that Maggie attracted boys the way deer attract ticks.)  She liked Mr. Grimes and Mrs. Grimes—“please, Beth, honey, call me Lori”—because she could see right away they were good people, the way they loved their son, and the way they were so respectful and grateful to her father.

She hadn’t interacted enough with Dale, T-Dog or Carol to have yet formed an opinion, aside from them seeming pleasant, if a bit wrong-footed, at dinner last night.  She felt a little in awe of Andrea to be honest; despite accidentally shooting Mr. Dixon yesterday, she seemed so capable. Someone who could take care of herself. Beth envied that. She envied anyone who seemed strong and unafraid these days.

Unspeakable helplessness and fear were all she felt capable of ever since her daddy had told her, grim-faced, that Mama and Shawn would be made comfortable in the barn, just until things settled down and the government was able to issue the cure to everyone in need.  Beth’s father had never lied to her in her life, so she had no cause to suspect him of it now, and yet... when she walked down past the barn to let Nellie out to graze and heard the low groans coming from inside if she went too close, she found that she needed to focus all of her faith on her belief in her daddy’s good judgment or her first inclination would be to fall to the ground weeping. She missed her mother so much, so very much.  Believing that she would be well again was the only thing that made going about business as usual bearable.

Beth loved her father without a doubt, but it was her mother that she depended on. Annette was her best friend and confidante, and funnily enough, her partner in crime against her siblings. In the near-constant struggle to get one-up on Shawn and Maggie’s perpetual effort to tease, prank, and just generally make sure she understood she was now and would forever be the baby of the family, their mom was her staunchest ally.  Where Maggie and Shawn were outspoken and bold, like Annette, Beth found herself with her father’s personality. She took joy in solitude or the quiet company of only a few, and preferred to spend more time thinking than speaking.  She wouldn’t consider herself a mouse by any means, but she could understand how people who didn’t know her might think it of her, and often envied her brother and sister their charisma.  It had shocked her, then, the last thing their mother had said to her before her daddy would no longer allow the girls to see her. 

            “Take care of your sister, Bethie.  She’s not as strong as you are, dear heart.  She’ll need you.” 

            Beth had nodded, not knowing what else to say.  The very idea that her mother thought she was stronger than her older sister was shocking.

            “I love you so, my girl.  I’ll see you in the morning.” 

And Beth had nodded again, and kissed her mother’s burning hot cheek, hugged her as hard as she could and told her she loved her. The next morning both Annette's room and Shawn’s were empty.

She didn’t know what she would do if her mother wasn’t going to be all right. She would be fine. She had to. There was no alternative.

 

The slam of a screen door shook Beth out of her melancholy thoughts, and she looked up into Glenn’s confused face as he rounded the corner and noticed her eavesdropping spot.

“Hey, Beth. What’s up?  Rick was supposed to come right back.  Is he still talking to your dad?”

Beth flapped her hand at Glenn and made an insistent shushing motion.The raised voices had moved to the hallway, no longer Mr. Dixon’s, but now, her daddy and Mr. Grimes, and Beth was desperate to hear.

“... clearly raving. The bullet only grazed him but I’m concerned now that he may have a concussion or sustained some...”

“That’s enough.” Mr. Grimes voice cut across her daddy’s.  “I need you to answer the question.  Is Daryl telling the truth? Are there walkers in the barn?”

Glenn’s eyes widened almost comically before he whipped his gaze away from Beth and stepped into view of the others in the hallway.  His voice rang out loud and clear with relief.

“Yes! Yes, there are. I saw them. I didn’t mean to, Mr. Greene, but... I was supposed to meet... er... nevermind. But yeah.  How did Daryl know?”

Beth couldn’t see her daddy and Mr. Grimes from her hiding spot but the utter silence that followed Glenn’s confession seemed to hang in the air like slack jaws nonetheless.  She couldn’t decide if she wanted to hear what her father was going to say about the people in the barn; half of her was rooted to her hidden spot and the other half wanted to get up and run, run fast and far and away. 

“I don’t know how Mr. Dixon found out. But it doesn’t matter. The _people_ in the barn are secure and taken care of and they are my business. Not yours.”

For the first time since she had left Beth’s side to go see what Mr. Dixon was yelling about, Lori spoke up.

“What about Sophia? Daryl said something about her being in there?”

“This is your land and your barn, Hershel, but if that little girl is in there... if she’s already dead, then we need to know... her mother needs to know,” Mr. Grimes sounded adamant, and Beth’s heart seized up at the word “dead”. Not dead. Just sick; they’re only sick. If Sophia was found in the barn, that was a good thing, right? She could be cured with the rest of them when the time came.

Still, her father said nothing.

“Hershel, is it possible that she’s in there?” Rick pressed again.  The sigh her daddy heaved out in response made Beth’s own heart ache.

“She could be. I doubt it. But it is possible. Otis was the one in charge of handling the sick ones that wandered onto the property. If he found her and put her in there before... well... yes, it’s possible.”

“Then we need to find out.”  Mr. Grimes’ voice brooked no argument.

“But we need to do it quietly... I hate to say it but I’m worried about how Shane might react,” Lori said. 

“If you can’t control your friend, Rick, then I’m going to have to ask you and your people to leave my land.”

Beth had rarely heard her father’s voice hold such steel in it, and she couldn’t help peeking around the corner just a bit, hoping Glenn’s legs would obscure her from her daddy’s view. She could see her father, face grim and set, and Rick, squared off against each other.  For a moment she wondered if they would stand like that forever, but then Lori’s hand reached out and grasped her father’s forearm. 

“Please, Hershel. Please,” and the pleading in her voice was obvious.

Her father’s eyes softened, just the smallest bit, but he didn’t waver until Rick spoke.

“Okay then. Here’s what we do. Lori, say nothing to anyone about this, all right?” Lori nodded solemnly at her husband.  “Glenn, please tell me you haven’t told anyone else?”

“No, no. No one. I was thinking about telling Dale, but if you think I shouldn’t, then I won’t.”

“All right. Good, that’s good.”  Mr. Grimes paused for a moment and then leaned forward just a bit until he could see past Glenn’s legs.  The corner of his eyes crinkled just the tiniest bit, and Beth knew she was caught.

“And Beth? I’m assuming you’re not gonna say a word to anyone?”

Her father’s head whipped around to where Rick was meeting her chagrined stare. “Bethie! I thought I told you to go help your sister.”

Figuring she might as well preserve what little was left of her dignity, Beth brushed herself off and came to stand in the hallway proper with the others.

“I know, Daddy. I’m sorry.” She turned her attention to Rick. “And of course I won’t say anything. It was our family’s secret to begin with.”

Rick looked like he didn’t know what to think of that, but her father didn’t add anything, so Beth figured she was justified.

“Fine, then, fine. We all keep quiet about this until we figure out if Sophia really is in there.  Hershel, how long will Daryl be out for?”

“No more than a few hours, he’ll probably wake by noon.  Why?”

“I want to talk to him again when he’s calmer. See why exactly he thinks she’s in the barn.”

“Wait... Daryl freaked out? Why?” Glenn piped up, clearly confused.

Her father, Rick and Lori turned to stare at Beth, who held out her hands in frustration.

“I have no idea! I was just minding my own business when he stumbled into the kitchen. He kept saying he thought I was dead.”  And that’s all Beth wanted to say aloud. She couldn't tell them that he had been weeping like she had never seen a man weep before. That his hands had spanned the whole of her back and clutched her to him like he was drowning.  That he had pressed his face into her hair and breathed in deeply as she murmured reassurances to him. That he had placed his huge rough hand over the place where her heart beat in her chest and looked at her like its rhythm was the only thing keeping him from shaking apart.

Uncomfortable silence followed her brief explanation, and when her father finally spoke up, Beth was relieved at the same time she knew that shortly she’d want to sink into the ground to escape his pending interrogation.

“If you’d all excuse us, now that we have things sorted out for the time being, I’d like to talk to my daughter.” 

Beth slumped against the wall, arms crossed. She wasn’t above letting her father know how she felt about this.

“We’re planning on some gun training this morning, but I’ll be back around noon and we can talk to Daryl then and settle on a strategy for dealing with this,” Rick said. “Everyone good?”

Beth nodded along with her father, Glenn and Lori, and then Rick escorted them both out through the kitchen.

As their steps faded out onto the porch, Beth and her daddy sighed at the same time, and their eyes met above the weary smiles it caused. It was enough to dull the irritation she felt at the unbearable over-protectiveness sure to be on display shortly.

“Bethie, I need you to tell me the truth. I won’t be mad. Have you been spending time with Daryl that I wasn’t aware of?”

Boy, her father sure didn’t disappoint.

“Of course not, Daddy.”  She struggled to sound firm instead of indignant. “I’ve barely said two words to him.”

Her father searched her face for any trace of a lie, but finding none, he gave a small chuckle and shook his head.  Beth pressed on: “And if I had said more than two words to him? Is that not allowed?”

“I just don’t want you getting too friendly with these people. We don’t know them all that well.  I’m just concerned that...” but Beth cut him off.

“They’re good people, Daddy.”  He said nothing.  “Mr. Dixon is a good person.”

The look her father fixed her with then was a strange one; it looked more than a little sad and something that might have been fearful.  He reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear.

“You think so, Doodlebug?”

“I know so, Daddy.” She found it easy to reply.

“Well, then. I guess that’s settled.” 

For a moment Beth felt resentful. She knew it was far from settled in her father’s mind, and he was almost entirely only humoring her. But she looked at the tired lines around his mouth, and the white of his hair, and she shook off the negative feelings of _too young_ \- _too inexperienced_ \- _too soft-hearted_ \- to be taken seriously and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and a smile.

“And now,” he continued, “I might as well get in there and change that good man’s bandages while he’s out.  He fought like a cougar last night while I tried to clean that wound in his side.  Possibly the worst patient I’ve ever had,” he half-chuckled.

His laugh made Beth feel bold.

“Let me?”  Her daddy’s face changed in an instant from mirth to disapproval, but Beth plowed on. “I just want to be useful.  You don’t like me being out of the house... this would keep me busy inside.  Please.”

Her father seemed to be trying to see inside her to some secret hidden motive, but there was nothing to find. Beth had none.

“Mr. Dixon deserves our care, Daddy. There’s a reason he’s hurt, remember?”

She turned imploring eyes on him and when he let out another sigh, Beth knew she’d won.

“Fine, Doodlebug, fine. Just... be careful,” he said, and then, with a squeeze to her shoulder, he walked away.   

Beth could tell that he meant more than just her care for Mr. Dixon’s wounds, but even if pressed, she couldn’t have said exactly what more that was.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbetaed. All mistakes are my own. If you like this latest offering, feel free to leave a comment and then I shall smile and be merry, and you will have done your good deed for the day, and the stars will shine on you all the brighter. 
> 
> This chapter written to a whole bunch of music but most prominently Daughter's "Still" and "Human".


	4. Looking Out On Carterhaugh, Among the Roses Green

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter written almost entirely to Anais Mitchell and Jefferson Hamer's version of Tam Lin (Child 39). Here's a link if you're so inclined: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u97jHBd8TDA&list=FL0ibfRcN6nn36e_r_irbsPg&index=1  
> It might help set the tone for this chapter if you can listen while reading. 
> 
> I honestly don't even know what I'm doing anymore. The plot just doesn't want to move forward, which, eh, whatever. Who needs plot anyhow? I'll just write a few thousand words of Daryl angsting over Beth, and Beth fretting over Daryl and call it a day, eh? *sigh
> 
> Well, I swear there will be plot next time. Maybe? I have no idea. I'm new to this. 
> 
> If there was anything in here that you liked, please do let me know. Fanfic is hard! 
> 
> Good luck this weekend, everyone! Fingers crossed we just might see our girl again!

Submerge. Pull up. Wring out. Shake.

Beth wrung the cloth out over the basin and watched the drops fall down into the warm water, clear now. She’d had to dump the contents of three entire basins after running the washcloth over just Mr. Dixon’s legs, despite the fact that her daddy had already given him a scrub before tending to his injuries yesterday. She doubted her father had been quite as thorough as she was being, though.

Her current occupation was so soothing; she almost wished the man were even dirtier than he already was so she could spend the rest of the morning doing just this. Her hands were busy, so she was content. She’d always felt best when her hands were at work. Holding reins. Twisting thread into bracelets. Washing dishes. Braiding hair. Pressing the ivory keys of her mother’s piano.

Wiping the soil and blood and sweat from Mr. Dixon felt much the same. The first bit of truly clean skin she’d managed to uncover with her ministrations were his feet, and Beth felt odd, looking at them and realizing that she thought they were rather lovely to look at, as far as feet went. She offered up silent thanks that he wasn’t awake to see her blushing at the thought. Clean, his toenails were the pink and white of seashells, though his feet, like the rest of him, certainly weren’t without blemish.

Beth was shocked at the number and variety of scars on his body, and she hadn’t even cleaned above his waist yet. Mr. Dixon may have come into the world well formed and fated to be handsome, but life had done its very best to beat itself against the rock of him. There were gouges and slashes. Gnarls where flesh had been stitched and pits where it clearly should have been, but wasn’t. Burn marks and scrapes. And still, still, none of it did a thing to diminish him, at least not to Beth’s eyes. She felt reluctant to admit it to herself, but he was probably the most striking man she’d ever seen.

Submerge. Pull up. Wring out. Shake.

Time passed quickly while Beth finished wiping off his legs—thankful he slept soundly while she cleaned as high as she dared on his thighs, thickly muscled and covered in fine blonde hair, and on up to his chest. It rose and fell steadily beneath her hands, and Beth found herself humming softly to its rhythm. The sun rose slowly higher in the sky and the light fell in a gleaming pattern of squares over his chest and stomach, illuminating the “Norman” inked in sprawling cursive above his heart. Who did he hold in high enough regard to have their name indelible on his skin? His father? Or maybe a son? He certainly was old enough to have one, though it was hard to remind herself of that as she looked on him asleep. It was common enough for people to look younger in sleep, she knew, but on this man, it was so pronounced as to be almost comical. The bluster and flint surrounding him vanished, and at rest, he looked somehow ageless. She found herself wondering exactly how old he was. How much older than herself?

Submerge. Pull up. Wring out. Shake.

She had finished with Mr. Dixon’s chest and arms and was taking extra care with wiping down his hands— strong, capable-looking things, more callous than smooth— when his fingers tightened on hers. A little gasp escaped her, and her gaze flew to his face. His heavy-lidded eyes seemed to have trouble focusing. When he spoke, his voice was just a rough, small thing.

“Beth?”

It made her smile again to hear him say her name so easily, as though they were long acquainted.

“Yep. It’s just me.” Since he had made no move to pull his hand from hers (if anything, he’d tightened his grip as she smiled and spoke), she resumed her gentle cleaning of his knuckles, secretly pleased that he was so far being much more docile for her than he had been for her father. “I volunteered to clean you up a bit. I hope you don’t mind. Daddy’s worried about infection.”

He didn’t reply, just kept his eyes on her, and she started to worry that there would be a repeat of his emotional confusion from the early morning.

“Do you want me to go get Mr. Grimes, since you’re awake now and all? I guess you all have some things to talk about...”

It was beginning to unnerve her, the way his eyes wouldn’t stop searching her face.

“Are you all right, Mr. Dixon?”

That, it seemed, finally snapped him out of it. He turned his face to the ceiling for a moment, and she saw his eyes go far away. He seemed to shiver then—a goose must have walked over his grave, her mama would have said—and he gave a giant exhale and muttered to himself, “This is real then,” and once more, in a stronger voice, “This is real.”

When he turned his eyes to her face again, there was naked hope in them, and she couldn’t understand it.

“Call me Daryl. Please,” he said and squeezed her hand once before finally letting go.

His earnestness made her feel bold. “Daryl,” she repeated back to him and offered her kindest smile. “Can I ask what happened this morning? Was it a nightmare?” He remained silent. “I mean... I hardly know you... ” A look stole across his face that reminded Beth of a shroud, and her speech failed her for a moment, but she swallowed and continued, “...so I’m assuming your nightmare wasn’t actually about me.”

Submerge. Pull up. Wring out. Shake.

Still, he did not speak, so she made one last try at prompting him. “I’m guessing maybe I reminded you of someone you know... or knew?”

A strange noise escaped Daryl then, and it took long moments for Beth to realize that it was low, pained laughter. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes.

“Yeah. Yeah. You could say that.”

The words sounded as if they were forced out past a trapped sob, and her heart turned over with regret.

“I am so sorry. Please. I didn’t mean to upset you. Forget I asked.”

She stood and moved to grab the basin and went to leave him to his grief, but his hand shot out and grasped her forearm. It was warm.

“No, please.” He cleared his throat and released her. “Stay.”

Beth found she did dearly want to, so she just nodded and gestured to her cloth and basin. “I’m gonna switch out the water, but I’ll be right back. I still need to clean your face and your back... if you’re okay with that?”

He didn’t speak, just nodded. As she was pulling the door closed behind her, she thought she heard him mutter, “Better this way. ‘s better this way.” She wondered what in the world he could be thinking of.

 

Submerge. Pull up. Wring out. Shake.

Daryl watched Beth’s nimble fingers as they prepared the soft white cloth, and he did his best to stay still as she tentatively reached out towards his cheek, asking permission with her eyes. He managed to grunt out “go ‘head” and concentrated on trying to slow his heart and swallow past the fucking lump in his throat that refused to go away. She slid her palm neatly over the hinge of his jaw, her delicate fingers sliding in front and behind his ear to hold his head in place while she brought the rag up with her other hand to wipe his opposite cheek.

Loathe as he was to close his eyes and risk her vanishing like a shade, he found he couldn’t keep them open. It wasn’t the first time Daryl had been touched this way by her. His memories of the months after the fall of the prison, after the moonshine shack especially, were full of gentle touches towards one another. When Beth held out her hand, he took it. When she stumbled, he righted her. When nightmares came, they held onto one another and waited for the grey dawn together.

But that was different. Daryl was easily able to keep from flinching here and now because he’d felt Beth’s hands on him before. What he could hardly bear, what made him close his eyes against the grief her gentleness caused, was the knowledge that this Beth had no reason to care so about him. He was a stranger to her. He’d done nothing for her. Hell, at this time, the version of him who had lived this before, he’d barely even known she existed. He didn’t deserve her consideration. Hell, in the end, he hadn’t deserved his Beth’s consideration either. After all, he was the one who lost her. Who couldn’t keep her safe. Who allowed her to...

“I’d be happy to listen, if you wanted to talk about her.”

Beth’s voice was so soft and sweet and earnest; Daryl found himself wondering idly if maybe this wasn’t reality or a dream. Maybe he’d died. Maybe this was hell. Where he was doomed to recite his transgressions over and over again to the one whose forgiveness he should beg the most. Wasn’t that what they said hell was? Repetition?

Daryl opened his eyes slowly, and looking on her face, decided instantly that was a stupid thought. There was no way even a specter of Beth would appear anywhere but the most dazzling heaven.

Daryl shook his head in response to her suggestion, and she just nodded.

“If you ever change your mind...”

He wondered if there was any way to tell her that his grief was for her, and that it wasn’t even all grief. He was worked up as much from disbelief and joy and fear that this wasn’t real as he was from any sadness.

He doubted it. He wondered how in the world he was going to convince Rick of his sanity... that what he had demanded must be done, or everything would collapse into chaos for a second time. He would die before allowing that. That much he was sure of. If he left this world for true, this time he planned to leave it well before Beth Greene.

“If you roll over onto your stomach, I’ll clean your back?”

Daryl complied with barely a thought. There was almost nothing he’d hide from her. Besides, he knew that she had felt his scars against her steady hands earlier this morning when he collapsed in her arms. No reason to be coy about them now. He found her touch—starting at his shoulder blades, rubbing the soft cotton in methodical strokes over the planes of his back— put him on edge, but not in any bad way. He wished she might put her hands on him without the cloth. Might be she’d be able to wipe the damage clean from him with just her will. Lord knows she’d tried. Adrift in the Georgia woods together, she had tried, and he had come to love her for it.

She was humming under her breath while she tended to him. Pressed into the pillows, his face gave a hidden smile almost against his will, and he found himself asking, “What song’s that?”

“Oh! I’m sorry. I was doing it unconsciously. I usually can’t help humming or singing while I work. It just happens.”

“Sounds pretty.”

He felt her hand still completely over where she had been rubbing down his neck.

“Thank you.” Her movements resumed. “I’m glad I wasn’t annoying you.”

“Nawh,” he shook his head just a bit. “Could sing it out true if you wanted. Wouldn’t mind.”

Submerge. Pull up. Wring out. Shake.

When her hands began her work once again, her voice rang out:

_“Then take me back into your arms, if you my love would win,_  
_And hold me tight and fear me not, I'll be a gentleman._  
_But first, I'll change all in your arms into a wild wolf,_  
_But hold me tight and fear me not, I am your true love."_

_"And then, I'll change all in your arms into a wild bear,_  
_But hold me tight and fear me not, I am your husband dear._  
_And then, I'll change all in your arms into a lion bold,_  
_But hold me tight and fear me not, and you will love your child."_

_At first, he changed all in her arms into a wild wolf._  
_She held him tight and feared him not: he was her own true love._  
_And then, he changed all in her arms into a wild bear._  
_She held him tight and feared him not: he was her husband dear._  
_And then he changed all in her arms into a lion bold._  
_She held him tight and feared him not, the father of her child._

_And then he changed all in her arms into a naked man._  
_She’s wrapped him in her coat so warm, and she had brought him home._

The song trailed off as Beth finished her work on him, and the room was bathed in light, warm and quiet. Daryl rolled over onto his back to look at her, standing over him, pink-cheeked and smiling a self-conscious smile.

“That’s a lot to go through, to save one sorry bastard.”

Her smile faded and the set of her mouth became serious, but warmth stayed in her eyes.

“No. No, it’s not.” She gave him one last long look that made him feel like she was holding his heart in her hand and squeezing, before turning to leave. “I’ll tell Mr. Grimes that you’re awake.”

The door clicked softly behind her, and Daryl sighed. He knew now that he was in no less danger of falling in love with her this time around.


End file.
